Holy City, Lower District, between dark gutters, mosquitoes and flies swarmed.
A scar-faced man in a black robe pushed a two-wheeled cart through the flickering neon lights and streetwalkers with cold indifference. His icy gaze drove away every smiling face that approached. Even the vagrants peeking out from the shadows and the burly men could not help shuddering when they saw those eyes.
They felt the chill.
Many people had always believed that killing intent was something mysterious and intangible, nothing more than hearsay. But once they were truly targeted by those eyes, the coldness and hair-raising terror that followed made every creature's instincts sense danger.
The danger of death.
That guy had really killed people, and definitely more than one.
Especially when the lump beneath the tattered cloth covering the cart bed kept wriggling, looking for all the world like a living person...
Anyone with even a shred of sense would not want to get close.
Mind other people's business less.
Mind unprofitable matters less.
Mind troublemaking matters less.
If you wanted to survive in this sunless underworld, you had to keep those principles engraved in your heart.
Before long, no one dared approach again.
The cart traveled through streets and alleys. After passing through a dark lane, it finally stopped before a dusty shutter, which was lifted to reveal a ruined, empty space inside.
A motorcycle repair shop that had long since been scrapped.
It came equipped with a full set of lathes, tools, modification equipment, and even materials.
This was the only thing Huai Shi had requested from Mo San.
Less than three minutes after Mo San made the call, a courier had delivered the key. It was clear that East Xia had not come away empty-handed in the Lower District these past days.
But when Huai